


Night-time Footsteps

by TheBritishBourbon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sad Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBritishBourbon/pseuds/TheBritishBourbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Hudson is fed-up of being woken by Sherlock's night time habits, but when she goes up to berate him she finds him agitated and troubled. Searching for answers, however, she may find out things she'd rather not know. Especially about Sherlock's 'hiatus'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night-time Footsteps

The sound of footsteps creaking on the floorboards above her woke her. For a moment, she was confused and scared, thinking someone had broken into 221B, but then she remembered. _He’s back_. Her pure joy was replaced with irritation after a while, however, as she could not find anymore sleep and the footsteps repeated themselves over and over again.  Sherlock had only been back a few days from his ‘hiatus’, seemingly resolving his differences with John and solving a national problem at the same time. Mrs Hudson had never in her life experienced as much joy as she had when he had returned to her life, back to Baker Street. Okay, she may have wacked him with her frying pan first and berated him for his secretiveness, but getting over the initial shock she’d held him tight, telling him _never_ to do that again. He had been strangely compliant, leaning into her hold and squeezing her tight.

Now she remembers all of Sherlock’s little traits, things that would drive her up the wall yet make her love him even more. At that moment, however, vexation replaced her affection as she turned over in her bed, desperate to fall back to sleep but finding the task almost impossible. It is the middle of the night, she’s meeting Mrs Turner for tea and cake tomorrow; she doesn’t want to be sleep deprived. “Sherlock!” she muttered angrily, pulling the covers over her head.

                                                                           ***

The process of night time footsteps repeated itself for the next few days, and Mrs Hudson was reaching the point where there was no affection for Sherlock’s habits at all. Throughout this whole week she had only managed to get three decent nights sleep, being woken most nights by the creaking of the floorboards above her. She remembered the days when both Sherlock and John were residents in 221B. Sherlock had stayed awake all night sometimes back then, especially if on a case, but she was starting to worry about the number of consecutive nights he was up. _Was he getting any sleep at all?_

_***_

It was when this occurrence had gone on for almost a week that Mrs Hudson decided she had had enough. Throwing her covers aside she made a grab for her dressing gown, slipping on her slippers at the same time. The clock in her kitchen read 3:10 AM, and outside the sky was tempered with the lights of London.

She made her footsteps as loud as possible, intending for Sherlock to hear her approach, and reaching the landing outside 221B, she could still hear Sherlock’s pacing from the other side of the door. She knocked loudly before entering, not giving Sherlock a chance to protest to her presence.

“Sherlock, could you please stop-" She stopped short at the sight of him, her complaint lost from her lips. Sherlock’s pacing was agitated, like when he was in desperate need of a cigarette, but one hand was tangled in his hair and the other covered his eyes. His hands were trembling ever so slightly.

“Sherlock?”

He looked up at her then, and jumped slightly in surprise. “Mrs Hudson!” He put his hands to his sides, and turned his gaze away, not making eye contact with her. Mrs Hudson noticed, with concern, the dark rings under his eyes.

“Sherlock dear, are you alright?” she hadn’t seen him much over the past week; him not being around when she brought him his morning tea and then out until late at night. There had been an influx of cases now that the world’s only Consulting Detective was back. Sherlock had been rushed off his feet.

He stared at her in confusion for a moment before asking, “What time is it?”

She sighed, “It’s three o’clock in the morning, dear. You woke me up with your pacing!”

He frowned and then looked down again, “Oh, Sorry.”

She sighed again, staring at him bewildered. Why did he look so….agitated? “You’ve been doing this for a good few days now, Sherlock. Is something the matter?”

Sherlock was lost in thought, scratching the back of his head. “Hmm, what? Yes, nothing is the matter Mrs Hudson.”

She didn’t believe him for a second, and stepped further into the room and put her hand on Sherlock’s arm. He looked up at her, the tell tail signs of distress present there for a second, before it was covered up with his cool, stoic mask.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, dear? You look very tired.” He looked away from her again, and worry clawed its way at her stomach. Something was definitely the matter.

“I can’t.” He muttered, voice collected, but his hands still trembled. Mrs Hudson grabbed one tightly, not allowing Sherlock to pull away.

“You’re trembling.” She stated. “Please, Sherlock, tell me what’s wrong.”

He sighed, pulling away from her hold. “I _can’t_ Mrs Hudson…..” She was about to protest again when he looked up, no mask on his face this time, and the desperation for her to stop prying was evident. “Please.”

She threw him a concerned look, not wanting to push him any further. God knows she knew how difficult Sherlock found it to deal with his feelings. She patted his arm once again.

“Alright, dear. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to.” He didn’t reply, didn’t even look up. Mrs Hudson left him, her mind whirring.

                                                                         ***

She tried to talk to him the next day, but he had gone out before she could see him and had returned well after she went to bed, worry gnawing at her stomach. She had half a mind to phone John, but if Sherlock didn’t want her prying she knew she would be betraying him if she got anyone else involved, even John.

                                                                         ***

She is woken once again in the dead of night, and this time it is not by footsteps. It is by screams and shouts. She clambers out of bed as quick as she can, making for the window in her kitchen and peering out. The commotion was not in the street. Then she listened more closely and realised, dread tearing at her insides that the noise was coming from upstairs. From Sherlock.

She took the stairs as fast as her joints would allow, and by the time she reached 221B her heart was racing and she could almost hear it in her ears. Nearing the door to Sherlock’s room she braced herself, not knowing what to expect on the other side, hoping it was not a criminal who had broken in or anything peculiar. She swung it open swiftly, and was met with something that had her speeding heart miss a beat.

 Sherlock was tossing on his bed, face screwed tight and his hands grasping at the mattress, nails digging in deep. Shouts still tore from his throat, and Mrs Hudson could make out the word “NO!” repeated over again. He was in the grasp of a nightmare. Swallowing hard she sat down careful on the mattress, aware of Sherlock’s writhing limbs, and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders.

“Sherlock, wake up.” She ordered firmly. Sherlock’s body had stilled somewhat but his head tossed weakly, sweat plastering his fringe to his forehead, and his shouts continued.

“ **Sherlock, Wake up now!”** She shouted over his screams. Screw what the neighbours would think.

Suddenly Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and his shouts ceased. His eyes roamed over the room, coming to land on Mrs Hudson. She could not deny the fear and pain she could see in them.

“Sherlock? Shh, it’s okay now, it was just a dream.” His breaths came out as pants and she rubbed his shoulder gently with her right hand while she pushed his damp curls from his forehead with her left.

“Mrs Hudson, what…” Sherlock murmured, sitting up as Mrs Hudson pulled back, still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You were having a nightmare, dear.”

He looked at her presence in alarm and she saw embarrassment and shame flood his face. Oh the silly boy, he didn’t have to feel embarrassed. Not in front of her.

“Oh,” He said, running his hands through his hair. “Sorry.”

She sighed in disbelief, putting a gentle hand on his arm. She peered in at his face, and their eyes made contact, hers reassuring him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to be afraid.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea, you come out when you’re ready.” He looked for a moment as if he was going to protest, but then thought better of it and only nodded. Mrs Hudson gave him an encouraging smile and left the room.

_‘Oh, my poor boy. What has happened to you?’_

_***_

The tea had just been made when he appeared, dressing gown wrapped around him and his hair sticking up messily. He took a seat at his kitchen table, putting his head in his hands. She placed both their cups of tea on the table before taking a seat opposite him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly, her tone open, not sounding too demanding. Sherlock’s fingers scrunched into his hair and he muttered quietly, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” she took a sip of tea, sounding casual in order not to spook him. ‘ _Spook Sherlock Holmes?’_ she thought, _‘This situation is wrong. Terribly wrong.’_

Sherlock groaned slightly, raising his head from his hands, looking at her with a tormented expression he did not try to hide. Not this time.

“Because I don’t want you to think differently of me.” Her heart began to race and she frowned. What did he mean?

“Sherlock,” She sighed, grasping his hand tightly in hers. “Whatever it is, I will never think differently of you. How could I? I love you too much.”

His eyes widened at her words, shock on his face. The expression was so uncommon to him she knew her words had made a deep impact.

“ _Really?”_

“Of course,” She rubbed her thumb over his fingers, “It’s okay, Sherlock, you can tell me.”

He sighed, looking at their joined hands. It was as if it was a sign of their relationship, that akin to mother and son, one that had maintained through all the years and through all the trials and tribulations. Sherlock had been there to save her from her husband, and now she was here to save him from his pains. She would _not_ leave him alone.

“Okay,” He finally muttered. And she smiled reassuringly at him, once again saying that it was okay for him to express what he was feeling.

He took a sip of tea, and then pulled in a deep breath. And then he told her.

                                                                          ***

“As you know, I’ve been taking down Moriarty’s criminal network. Along the way I have encountered some trouble. It was not easy, and I soon found myself falling into the more……unpleasant side of this web. It was not long before my interferences got noticed and I was captured. These criminals did ummm…..they…..they didn-" Sherlock broke off, frowning slightly as tried to think of how to phrase his words. Mrs Hudson just continued rubbing his hand, a black hole of dread forming in her stomach as she realised just what Sherlock might be saying. “I was t-tortured by these men for……it must have been no less than a month before Mycroft’s men found me. I was treated like hell, and I…I can’t seem to stop dreaming about it, I cannot… delete it from my mind. Stupid!” he cried. He had kept his voice steady as he’d finally said those words, but now the memories were overpowering and he was _so_ angry at himself. The great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t stop his own mind from turning on him. It was so pathetic.

Mrs Hudson stared at him with tears in her eyes. She shook her head slightly. “It’s only natural, Sherlock.” She whispered, making her grip on his hand tighter. Suddenly she caught sight of something on his wrist, and she gently pushed up his dressing gown sleeve. Tears started to fall from her eyes as she took in the scars. Scars that indicated imprisonment. Sherlock stared down at his wrists with disgust in his eyes.

“They had me chained to a wall for hours by my wrists, until I couldn’t my muscles felt as though they were on _fire_. They took my pride away and they took away my dignity. They made me feel pathetic, they taunted me and I… I can’t get it out of my head!” Sherlock’s voice had cracked as he’d been speaking and pure anger and self loathing showed on his face, half hidden by the hand not held by Mrs Hudson.

Now fully sobbing, Mrs Hudson let go of Sherlock’s hand and rounded the table until she stood by his side. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and gave him a fierce hug. Her face disappeared into his shoulder whilst his head rested on hers. He snaked his arms around her, holding her equally tightly.

“Oh, Sherlock. This doesn’t make you pathetic. This makes you braver and stronger than you’ve ever been, surviving that as well as you have is something not everyone could do. I’m just so glad you’re home.” She broke down into sobs again, and Sherlock’s grip on her intensified.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.” He murmured, and she pulled away, looking up at him, one hand grasping his arm tightly and the other pushing his curls back once again.

“There is nothing to be sorry for, and I promise that I will never think of you differently. Just with more pride. To me, you will always be the man who saved me from my husband…and a very annoying tenant.” She smiled weakly at him and he looked down at her with gratefulness she had never seen from him.

“ _Thank you_ , Mrs Hudson.”

She squeezed both his arms tightly again before letting go. “Are you going to go back to bed or…?”

Sherlock shook his head, straightening his dressing gown, and then proceeded to the living room where he picked up his violin. Mrs Hudson stared after him with love and compassion in her eyes, feeling slightly ashamed at her earlier anger at Sherlock. She wished she had gone to him sooner. She seated herself in John’s armchair, cup of tea nestled in her hands, no longer caring about sleep. Before Sherlock started his playing, however, he turned to her.

“Mrs Hudson? Promise me you won’t tell John?”

She sucked in a breath, wondering if Sherlock was sure about this decision. John should know what he had been through; Sherlock shouldn’t keep it hidden from him. She couldn’t however, go against the wishes of Sherlock, not when he had opened up to her.

“I promise dear.” Was all she said, and was all that was needed to be said.

Sherlock’s music continued through the night, and led the light of a new day into birth, washing away the sorrows of the night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
>  Tumblr: thebritishbourbon.tumblr.com


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